Last Orders
by starshards
Summary: An English man and a Prussian man walk into a bar… And in turn, face the consequences the next day. Slight Prussia x England.
1. Chapter 1

_This fic is apologetically English. From beer, to football, to the slang, to wanting to punch Chris Tarrant in the face, this is, in my opinion really how England should act once he casts aside his pretentious, holier- than- thou attitude. Thankfully, that's just what happens after he's had his first pint. And who should join him in reveling in pure, blokey fun? Prussia, naturally._

_Warnings: Terribly bad language._

_Beware the OC._

* * *

'It's a fucking joke,' the blond said, leaning against the bar and spreading his hands out expressively at the man standing next to him. 'You don't see fucking _Real Madrid_ getting this shit do you? No, of course you don't. FIFA's out to fucking get me.'

'Sure,' the man he was talking to shrugged, looking half interested and half not. Laura couldn't tell if he was blond. In some lights his hair almost looked silver. Weird.

'Oh come _on_. You don't think that I have a right to be fucked off?' the first snarled, as if the other had insulted his mother. 'You'd be throwing a fit if this was Bayern Munich we were talking about!'

'Aha!' the second man smiled knowingly. 'And that's where you're wrong. I don't give a _shit_ about Bayern _München_ because, my friend, you should know that I always _hated_ that cunt Bayern.' He paused to snort derisively. 'Not that I should have expected you to remember that, since you were busy playing "la- la- la- not- listening" at the time that I kicked West's arse into shape. Point is you used a shitty example. Now… Berliner FC Dynamo? _That's_ a football team,' he said emphatically, accompanying it with a slam of his palm, flat onto the surface of the bar.

'Umm… can I get you lads anything?' Laura interrupted, seizing upon the momentary lull in order to get a word in edgewise.

They blinked at her, as if they had momentarily forgotten that she was there. She didn't take it personally. It often happened when men got talking about football (which, in a pub, was often.)

The blond(er) one spoke first. 'Sorry, love. I'll have a pint of Newkie Brown, please.' Laura had to fight back the eye roll at how cliché it was when non- Geordies ordered Newkie Brown in her pub. It was pathetic and probably how the Irish felt when people ordered Guinness in _their_ pubs. Still, she considered as she turned to the other man, blondie was obviously English, but fuck if she could place his accent. He was probably a southerner, she reckoned, though he sounded like no southerner she'd ever met before.

'Do you have Beck's?' the not- English one said.

Laura glanced at their beer selection. 'We have Grolsch?' she offered.

He pulled a face at that. 'Just give me whatever then. As long as it's beer I don't really care.'

For the ease of it, she decided to pour him Newcastle Brown Ale too, stealing casual glances at the two as she did so. Much as the English guy was dressed like a ponce, and the… German? was dressed like he was trying to look like a teenager going through an awkward, and half- arsed Goth phase, they were both pretty lush. Personally, Laura preferred the one with weird- coloured hair. She liked foreigners. They always had such sexy accents.

'So…' she said with a well- practiced, flirtatious little smile as she handed him his ale. 'You German or something?'

He pulled a strange expression, but it quickly faded into an oddly proud look. 'Prussian, actually,' he corrected.

Laura, having left high school three years previously with four level A- C GCSEs, (none of which being in History), cocked her head prettily to one side as she pulled the other pint. 'Is that like being Russian?'

The English guy snorted in laugher as the German guy immediately deflated. 'No. No it's not.'

'Look, don't worry about it, Laura,' the English man said, having recovered from his laughing fit, leaning over to drop a ten pound note into her waiting hand. 'Have one for yourself.'

He pulled his companion (definitely German. "_Sheiße_" had been one of the first words she'd learnt in her first German lesson back in high school) away by the arm and settled into one of the booths opposite the bar.

She smiled after them. At least this shift she'd have a nice view.

She was startled out of her thoughts when she felt nothing but the softness of her left breast under her hand. Looking down at herself, and patting across her chest, she realised that, as usual, she'd forgotten to put her nametag on.

Laura stared at the two men in confusion for a moment before shrugging it off.

They'd probably heard a regular call her by name or something.

* * *

'Anything else?' she asked as she handed them their third pint.

The German bloke looked to Arthur ('_Arthur!'_ she'd heard the German shout five minutes earlier, almost making her drop a bottle of Aftershock on her foot, '_you can't seriously think that you're going to win Eurovision next year!'_) with a questioning look.

Arthur shrugged. 'Crisps?'

'Ah!' the other said with a comical widening of his eyes. (They were red. Must be some weird contacts or something. Whatever. He was still fit.) He turned back to her and slapped his hand against the surface of the bar again. 'Crisps!' he demanded.

'What flavour?' she asked politely. 'We have Ready Salted, Ba-'

'All of them,' Mr. Red Eyes interrupted with a slightly manic grin. 'Oh! And a bag of nuts too.'

Laura excused herself for a moment in order to raid the crisp boxes in the stock room, taking a good minute to gather all of the various flavours up and balance them properly in her arms.

'But fuck, really,' Red Eyes was saying as she returned, not noticing as she piled her armful onto the bar. 'You should have seen Romano's face. If Spain stopped _buhyoo-ing_ over him for five seconds, he'd realise that the little shit's practically giving him an open invitation. You don't blush like that if you don't at least want to fuck. Well,' he said, taking a swig of his beer. '_I_ don't blush full stop, but you know what I mean.'

Arthur shrugged. 'What the fuck can we do about it anyway? Romano shits his pants the moment you or I so much as look at him, and talking to Spain is like talking to a retarded puppy. Either way, I don't give a fuck about the pathetic state of their shitty love life.'

'Then why did you bring it up?' Laura couldn't see the German guy's face, turned, as she was, to pluck a packet of nuts off of one of the shelves behind the bar. She _could_, however, practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

'B- because they piss me off! Just _looking_ at them dance around each other like a pair of school children drives me up the sodding wall. It'd be bad enough if it was just in UN meetings, but it's in the EU meetings too and—urgh,' he finished with an irritated huff.

'The EU?' Laura joined in as she set the nuts down on the bar. She couldn't help it. Part of the reason why she was a barmaid was because she was a naturally chatty person. 'Is that like the European Union?'

Caught off guard, the two men glanced at each other cautiously. 'Uh… yeah,' Arthur said slowly. 'We work for the… commission.'

'Government types, eh? Can't you, like, stop that thing that makes us pay for France's farming or something? I don't like the French.'

The German guy smirked and rolled his eyes. Arthur chuckled around something that sounded vaguely like 'That's my girl.'

* * *

Gil ('_Go and get the next round in, will you, Gil? I need to take a piss.'_) was the one to approach the bar next. Rather than order their fifth pint, as she was expecting, he instead looked thoughtfully at where the schnapps hung above the bar.

'Same again?' Laura pushed after a few drawn out seconds of silence.

Gil shrugged and grinned, turning his attention back to her. 'Nah. Get me two shots of peach _Schnaps_, will you?'

'Sure.'

She was pouring the second shot out when Arthur rejoined them, sliding straight up to the bar to lean against it next to Gil.

'Do you have a beer garden?' He asked, knocking the shot back almost before her fingers had left the glass.

'We don't, unfortunately. Just the car park outside,' she answered.

Arthur nodded, and then inclined his head towards the empty glass. 'Same again, please.' He turned to Gil, who mirrored his gesture, and stared right back at him. 'Fancy going for a fag?'

'Outside?' he grimaced.

'Yes, well, if _I_ don't adhere to my own laws, it won't look very good will it?'

'Stupid law,' Gil muttered (Laura had to agree. Alcohol sales were down since the smoking ban kicked in) before clinking his newly refilled glass of schnapps against Arthur's, gulping it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Come on then. Let's enjoy the cold, summer air.'

They were gone for more than five minutes before they returned, laughing raucously and talking in stuttering German. It made Laura wish that she'd taken her language GCSE further. She'd all but forgotten everything but "_danke_" and "_kaput_".

'Laura!' Arthur grinned as he approached the bar, Gil peeling off to the side to sit back down. 'Grab us another couple of shots of schnapps will you? Oh, and a packet of pork scratchings.'

She did as she was bid, putting the change to one side as Arthur walked off, once again, the second she'd placed the drinks and snack down.

* * *

Several minutes later, after shouting '_drei! Drei!_'a few times, and waving his hand around while making a strange gesture, Gil got up from his seat and pulled Arthur up with him, dragging him over towards the _Who Wants To Be a Millionare_ game machine next to the bar.

'I want to fucking play, so put some coins in, you stingy bastard!' Gil demanded.

'Why am I paying for everything anyway?' Arthur sighed, sounding incredibly put out.

'Because it's _your_ shitty country, that's why. Next time we're in Berlin, _I'll_ pay for everything. Now stop whinging and stick some coins in.'

'You mean _Germany_ will pay,' Arthur muttered, though he did as he was ordered.

Laura had to refrain from tutting. She hated when these government types used the people's hard- earned money to fund their executive lifestyles. After all of the trouble in parliament recently, she would have thought that they would have at least been subtler about it.

The familiar tune filtered out above the music playing in the pub, though it was only be because of her close proximity to it the machine.

Arthur groaned dramatically. 'Did you _have_ to pick this game? It always makes me want to punch Chris Tarrant in the gob.'

'Oh come on,' Gil responded, elbowing Arthur in the side. 'Between us, getting to the million pound question should be a doddle.'

'I suppose so,' Arthur muttered back.

'… So how much do you know about American presidents?' Gil said a few seconds later.

'Errr…'

'We have to put these presidents in order,' Gil explained.

'Oh. This should be a piece of piss then,' Arthur boasted. 'Right, let's see… well America had him around the time that I had Macmillan, and I think that he was around Heath's time… uhh… hang on, was he?'

'Do you want to hurry the fuck up a bit? Gil interrupted him. 'We're running out of time.'

'Shut up! I'm thinking!' Arthur snapped.

'Fuck it,' Gil shrugged, before slamming his hand down onto the screen.

'Oh well done. Now we have no lifelines,' Arthur moaned, as if it was one of the worst things to occur in human history.

Gil grinned and shrugged. 'We don't need no lifelines anyway. We aren't pussies.'

'What does that have to do with- oh look! _What month did the Berlin Wall fall in?_' Arthur said excitedly.

'The month of Not- soon- e- fucking- nough,' Gil crowed, bashing the screen with a painful- looking jab.

'What the—Jesus _Christ_, Prussia!' Laura recognised the word from earlier. She'd have to wiki it when she got home. 'How the _fuck_ could you get it wrong!' Arthur sounded incredulous. It made Laura feel a bit stupid for not knowing it herself, but hey, she grew up in the nineties.

'Wha-? Oh shit. My finger slipped.'

'Don't fucking smack the machine then, you prat!' Arthur argued back.

'Stop bitching at me already, Jesus! Put some more money in the machine will you? I'll go and grab us some more booze,' Gil said dismissively.

'Maybe we'll actually get past a hundred quid without your stupid, clumsy fingers jabbing at everything,' Arthur snorted.

'You won't be saying that later,' Gil grinned at him, before turning back to a rather perplexed Laura. ''Nother round, girlie!'

* * *

An hour before closing time, Gil and Arthur were lounging against the bar awaiting their tenth drinks. She was considering telling them to slow down, but they weren't being particularly aggressive, and they were still gorgeous, so she let it go. They looked pretty wankered though, so she kept a close eye on them regardless.

When she placed their shots of tequila down upon the bar, Arthur (or _England_ as Gil had started calling him around their eighth drink. Stupid nickname if you asked Laura) nodded to her and slid another tenner over towards her. They continued to lean on the bar though, ignoring their drinks a moment in favour of crowding around Gil's mobile phone, Arthur pressing his cheek to the other man's as they both shuddered with silent giggles.

'He~llo~' Gil drawled in a creepy, put- on voice. 'Is- is that Lith~u~ania~?' England pulled a face as if he was about to die from his withheld laughter. 'It is~? This is Russiaaaaaaaaa. I'm coming for you! I'm right outside your windooooooow KOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOLKOL!' With that he hung up and exploded into a fit of raucous laughter along with Arthur. Laura didn't get it, but smiled amiably at them anyway.

'Prussia, you're such a fucking legend!' Arthur practically sobbed with laughter.

'I know!' Gil laughed back. 'Who next? Who next?'

'Uhhhh. Oh! I got it! Gimme the phone!' Arthur said, even as he snatched it up. He quickly cycled through the phonebook before selecting a name and pressing it between himself and Gil again.

Gil leaned in eagerly as Arthur fetched a hankie out of his pocket and covered the mouthpiece with it. He glanced at Gil, grinning suddenly. 'Amerrrrrrricaaaaaaa,' he rasped in a faintly American accent. 'This is the ghost of Benjamiiiiiin Frankliiiiin. I haunt that chessboard in your officccccccce. Sometimes you think you see the pieces moooooooving. That is meeeeeeeeeeeeee. I'm watching you, Americaaaaaaaaaaaaa.' Gil and Arthur erupted into somewhat hysterical laughter.

'Did you hear that? He fucking _screamed_!' Gil choked.

Arthur keeled over the bar and nodded as tears streamed down his face.

'Oh! Pass me the phone!' Gil demanded, already recovering from his laughing fit. Arthur did as he was bid, though he still shuddered with laughter.

After a couple of seconds of scrolling through his phonebook, Gil put the phone to his ear, beckoning Arthur to get closer. 'Hi! Oh my God, Spain you'll never guess what! No, I don't mean actually try and guess, no, no, Spain… Spain shut up for a second! Listen! Shit! I was around Ita's house, and Jesus fucking Christ, Romano comes up to me, looking like a little, slut and practically begs me to have a threesome with him and Ita'… No, I'm serious! I swear to God! And me being the awesome friend that I am, I thought, "Prussia, you know who'd appreciate this more? Your old buddy Spain." So I'm phoning you right now to tell you about this. Romano and little Ita are gagging for a threesome and I think that you can be the man for the job! Honestly! Go around right now and ask for it! They'll say _yes_! Romano started pulling on that curl of his the _second_ that I said your name. Se- oh I think he's gone,' Gil smirked.

Arthur grinned and picked up his tequila. 'A hundred Euros say that Spain turns up at the G20 meeting tomorrow with a black eye.'

'I don't make losing bets,' Gil snorted in amusement as he picked up his shot glass, clinking it with Arthur's and then knocking it back.

Arthur pulled a face. 'Oh God, I _felt_ that one go down.'

'Don't puke,' Gil cheerfully advised him.

'Fuck off. Who we phoning next anyway?' Arthur pushed on, though he still looked a little queasy.

'Do West! Do West!' Gil clapped his hands excitedly.

'What do you want me to say?' Arthur asked, already tapping away on the phone.

'Get him to give me Brandenburg back!' Gil urged him.

'Ffff. Yeah right. Oh, it's ringing. Yes, Germany. This is your conscience speaking. Give Prussia Brandenburg back, you know that he- oh yes, I'm fine thank you. Just sitting in a pub with your brother. I love the new Audi by the way. Yeah. Yeah, no I agree. Yeah. Well you're welcome to come and join us. Oh is it? That's a shame. I suppose so. Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow,' he hung up and turned back to Gil. 'He figured out that it was me.'

Gil gave him a steady look. 'Perhaps talking in German would have convinced him that it was his _conscience_ a little more.'

'Oh yeah. Didn't think of that,' Arthur looked genuinely as if he were considering it deeply.

'Whatever, that was fucking shit. My turn.' He grabbed the phone back. 'Who next, hmmmm… oh! What about Portugal?' he grinned.

'No. He's my best friend,' Arthur frowned.

Gil looked wounded. 'I thought that _I_ was your best friend, England.'

Arthur frowned, looking a little dazed. 'Oh. Well you can be my other best friend then.'

'I don't w_ant_ to be your shitty second- best friend. I want to be your first- best friend! Don't you think that I'm awesome enough?'

'What?' The booze must have been starting to catch up with Arthur, because he was beginning to look increasingly confused. 'Fine, you can be my first- best friend.'

'Cool! I knew you'd see it my way!' Gil laughed in response, though now that she thought about it, Laura realised that he was starting to look really wasted himself.

He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. 'Hello! Portugal!' he paused to laugh triumphantly. 'It's me, Prussia! Guess what? England said that _I'm_ his first- best friend, and that _you're_ only his shitty second- best friend. Don't worry though! _I_ still think that you're cool, even if he doesn't… Ahahah! See you around!'

'Prussia!' Arthur snapped, trying, belatedly to wrestle the phone off of his friend. 'Don't listen to him, Portugal! He's drunk!' he wailed down the phone. Gil laughed even harder and waved the phone around some more.

'Errr, lads, can we calm it down a bit, please?'

They looked surprised at the strange voice interrupting their fight and, upon seeing a worried looking Laura staring right at them; they calmed down a little and sat back down.

Arthur muttered an apology to her, before fixing Gil with an unhappy look. 'What did Port say?'

Gil shrugged. 'Dunno. It was his answerphone.'

* * *

When Laura rang the bell and called for last orders, Gil and Arthur finished the night off (ironically) with a quick drink of port wine.

Stumbling out of his seat, Arthur staggered over towards the bar with a pleasant smile. Laura felt her cheeks heat up and her heartbeat race a little. Sure, she liked Gil more, but she'd happily settle for Arthur- even if he did have an old- man name and quite thick eyebrows.

'Thank you, my dear,' he said with a halting bow that would have been quite dashing if he wasn't struggling to retain his balance. 'I have most enjoyed my stay in this fine establishment. I shall be sure to return here one of the days.'

'Yeah, it was awesome,' Gil said to her, before hoisting Arthur back up by his arm, sending them both swaying to the right slightly as he did so. 'Come on, you stupid tosser. I hope you're not too drunk that you can't get it up tonight, because I want to fuck.'

Arthur snorted. 'Fuck off. You still owe me that blowjob from that stupid bet you made earlier.'

'No, I paid that back earlier in the loos. You must have forgotten, you silly bastard, you,' Gil grinned.

'Oh you can piss right off, Prussia. I'm not _that_ drunk, you know.'

'Damn,' Gil smirked. 'It was worth a try.'

'Now can we please go back to mine?' Arthur sighed; swaying unsteadily as he regarded the other with half- lidded eyes.

'Eager, are we, England?' Gil leered.

'Partially. But it's more to do with the fact that we're giving that delightful young lady quite a shock,' he drawled, pointing towards a rather stunned looking Laura.

'Ah, right. I suppose it's not ever day you get awesome countries like us in a little bar like this!' Gil laughed, obviously finding his weird joke hilarious.

Arthur slapped his palm to his forehead and groaned. 'I told you to stop telling people about who we are.' He turned back to Laura. 'Look, don't tell anyone, okay? I'll know if you have! Not that that's a threat at all, but I know about everything that happens on my soil. _Everything._'

'Come on,' Gil cackled, tugging on Arthur's arm, trying to drag him away. 'Let's get the fuck out of here. I'm drunk and I want sex.'

'Oh, all right. I suppose so,' Arthur nodded, suddenly compliant, finally allowing himself to be led along. He was singing _Jerusalem_ rather loudly before he'd reached the door. Even when they'd exited, Laura could hear him in the car park for a few moments.

She sighed, surveying the devastation of empty glasses and crisp packets that they'd left behind. So much for it being a good shift.

Why were the rich, handsome men always gay, or crazy?

Outside, England bellowed out a tuneful _'Bring me my arrows of desiiiiiiire,'_ in response.

Prussia fell over laughing.

* * *

I am of the opinion that the 'human' names of the nations are used when in human company. Because calling someone by a country name looks a bit strange. However, remembering all of this gets harder and harder to do the more and more drunk you get. Hahaha.

A quick guide to the slang used:

Lush/ fit= attractive

"four level A- C GCSEs" = basic high school qualifications. Four being okay.

Tenner= £10

Wankered= drunk

Loos= toilets.

To be honest, I see Prussia, and England (both being of Germanic stock) to be pretty blokey, and more interested in munching crisps, drinking beer, and talking about football, than visiting art museums, or drinking coffee in cafés. I thought it'd be a nice change to have England cutting lose a bit, especially since (and no disrespect to them) a lot of fanfic writers who write about drunk England have either never been drunk themselves, or have never spend their time around drunk, English men. In both cases, it's a lot of fun. 8D

(BE SENSIBLE, KIDS. STAY IN SCHOOL.)


	2. The Morning After

_And naturally, there are of course, the consequences..._

_Warning: Portugal is huff huff._

* * *

Germany sighed heavily, not looking forwards to the morning in the slightest.

As the leading economy in Europe, it was really his place to be taking control of things on the EU front, and it was nice to be working with two such solid European powers such as France and England on this banks thing… but on the downside, he was working with _France_ and _England_.

It wasn't at all that he didn't respect them. It wasn't even that he didn't like them, because, once you got past France's arrogance he was a genuinely charming fellow who talked about interesting things, and once you clawed through some of England's layers of obstinacy, he was actually a very funny, and very charismatic individual. So certainly, he liked them both. In their Europeanness (though England on occasion argued that point) they all had a great deal in common.

The problem arose from the fact that he had to work with _France_ and _England_. As in… he'd have to get between them, and negotiate, and act as a referee, and generally be the third wheel in their battle of words that always seemed to degenerate into childish insults. So yes, much as he liked the two, and much as working with the pair of them usually pretty much set the example for the rest of Europe, Germany could already feel a headache coming on.

Briefly, and distantly, some part of his mind helpfully suggested that he should have taken England's offer up last night, and joined him along with his own brother Prussia down the pub.

He was startled from his thoughts when Poland came storming in, flouncing through the door with his face twisted into a furious scowl which, on _his_ features looked somewhat comedic. Any amusement that Germany had felt, however, dropped into his stomach, manifesting itself as cold dread when Poland veered off towards Russia, stomping up to him and standing before him with hands on his hips.

'Is everything well with you, Poland?' Russia smiled blithely.

Poland, Germany had to admit, was a braver man than most, standing unflinchingly glaring down at a man who was almost twice his size. 'You! You total dick! I don't even know what you said to Liet last night, but he totally _freaked_ out! He was, like, hyperventilating when he came off the phone to you and he totally wouldn't say anything. He just closed all of the curtains and hid under the bedcovers all night. He won't even come in today, you jerk!'

Most of the room pretended not to listen in on what was being said, though that same 'most of the room' were eagerly awaiting Russia's response.

To their surprise, it was unusually lacking in creepiness. 'But I did not phone dear Lithuania last night, Poland.'

'Shut _up_! You're totally lying. I heard your creepy Kolkol-whatever chant from the other side of the room. I keep telling you, Russia, leave Liet alone!' Poland argued back.

'No, Poland. I do not lie. I was…' to the shock of the nosier nations in the room, Russia looked, of all things, _uncomfortable_ for a moment. 'I was… playing… hide and seek last night with little sister Belarus.'

'You wha…?' Poland trailed off, losing a great deal of his righteous fury over _that_ little admission. It was certainly something that Russia wouldn't lie about anyway. 'Then who…?'

'It was not me, Poland. It saddens me that you immediately think the worst of your poor, dear little brother,' Russia lamented, though he didn't look particularly stricken over it.

'Argh!' Poland threw his hands up, expression dropping into one of disgust. 'I totally wish you'd stop calling yourself that. I am _not_ related to you, you creeper.'

'But big sister Ukraine said-'

'Just drop it!' Poland snapped, stalking off in a huff.

Germany shook his head, _really_ wishing that he'd gone for that drink last night.

'Hey, Germany?'

Startled out of his regretful thoughts, Germany was surprised to find America standing over him. Actually, he was less surprised that America was addressing him, and more surprised over the fact that America had actually turned up early. Come to think on it…

'Ah, America, are you alright?' Germany asked, brow creasing in concern. America looked like he hadn't slept at all last night, all pale skin and drooping eyes.

'What? Oh yeah, sure. Look do you think I have time to go and grab a quick coffee before the meeting starts?'

Germany glanced down at his watch. There was about ten minutes before the meeting was officially going to start, which made it about half an hour before the meeting _actually_ started. 'I believe so,' Germany stated slowly. 'If you hurry, then you should be able to go to the cafeteria instead.'

'Y- yeah, good idea,' America responded, completely lacking in his usual eagerness. 'Thanks, Germany.' He nodded at the other man and walked away, pausing as he passed Canada, who was busy pulling his chair in and setting his papers on the desk. 'Oh, hey, Canada?'

Canada looked startled and glanced around himself a few times. 'Me?' he questioned dubiously.

'Of course you,' America gave him a somewhat pained smile. 'Look, I know it's kind of sudden of me to ask, but can I stay around yours tonight. We could talk about NAFTA and… stuff…'

'Uhhh, okay, but I got a big hockey game on tonight,' Canada responded, still sounding rather uncertain, as if he expected America to shout "psyche!" at him at any moment.

'T- that's cool!' America laughed, though it sounded rather hysterical. 'That's absolutely cool. I'll see you after the meeting then.' With that, he walked off, presumably to head to the cafeteria. Canada stared after him in bemusement.

Germany felt rather perplexed himself. He preferred to keep out of the business of others, but if it was going to affect how smoothly the meeting went…

Come to think on it, England still hadn't turned up yet. If he was out with his brother then, Germany reasoned, it was likely that England had got trashed. Still, although he wasn't late, in Germany's opinion it wasn't quite on that he wasn't at his own meeting yet. France was already starting to eye him up, and Germany _really_ didn't relish in having to sit through his attempts to persuade him over to "his side" again.

'Germany! Germany!'

His thoughts were interrupted by a somewhat familiar weight being thrown against his back, coupled with clingy arms coming up to fold around his neck.

He wheezed for a moment, before bringing his hands up to loosen their grip a little. 'Italy,' he said by way of greeting.

'Germany!' Italy said again, helping himself to the seat next to Germany's. 'Good morning!'

'Good-' Germany broke off in order to take a quick glance at his watch. 'You're… unusually early.' Which was true. It wasn't that Italy was lazy, or a late riser, but he still always seemed to make it to meetings with little more than a few seconds to spare. Well. That or just plain _late_.

'Ohhh, well my big brother wanted to get here early so that he could get a good chair!' Italy explained. Germany took a moment to glance hesitantly up towards Romano, who was lurking off to the side and wearing a murderous expression. Since Germany had yet to receive any sort of verbal tirade from him, he was safe in assuming that he was not the object of Romano's wrath. If it wasn't him, then it was probably going to be-

'Germany!' Spain wailed as he simultaneously smashed the door open. 'Germany! Prussia lied to me!'

'You!' Romano screamed. 'Get the fuck away from me, you fucking pervert!'

'Romano!' Spain sobbed. 'Prussia lied to me! It's not my fault!'

'That doesn't change the fact that you're a fucking pervert, you tomato- brained bastard!' Romano yelled, though he had placed a chair between himself and Spain, as if to fend him off.

'Italy,' Germany sighed as Spain continued to sob apologies at Romano, and Romano continued to hurl insults at Spain. Italy looked at him with a wide, questioning smile. 'What did Spain do _now_?' he asked, noticing that Spain was sporting a rather painful- looking black eye.

'Hmmm?' Italy placed a finger to his lips in thought. 'Well, last night big brother Spain came around our house really, really late. And he knocked the door, so I let him in, and he hugged me, and I hugged him back, but then Romano saw us and got jealous, so he started shouting at big brother Spain, so then big brother Spain hugged him too and was really, really happy!'

'Yes…?' Germany prompted. Surely _that_ wasn't the reason. Surely.

'Oh!' Italy clapped his hands together as if he had just remembered something. 'And then big brother Spain said that he was really, really happy that we wanted him to be the man that we had a threesome with, and that he'd always dreamt that it would happen one day!'

'Wait, he _what_?' Germany choked.

Apparently hearing this, Spain turned his attention to Germany. 'Germany!' Spain whined. 'It's not my fault! Prussia rang me up last night and told me that they wanted a threesome.'

Oh God. Germany cursed himself for not putting things together sooner. He buried his face in his hand and sighed.

'Oh! And Germany, big brother Spain said that he really, really _loved_ big brother! Do you think that they'll get married?' Italy gushed.

'I will _never_ marry that perverted freak!' Romano shouted.

'Romano, that's cold!' Spain whined in response.

'What are you even doing here? You don't even belong here!' Romano snapped, giving Spain a disgusted glare.

'He's representing the EU,' Germany sighed. 'Now can we _please_ calm it down? We have important-'

'I'll sit down when that fucking _moron_ is nowhere near me or my brother!'

'B- but-'

'Romano!' Germany thundered. 'Sit down next to your brother.' Romano looked ready to argue. Germany turned his attention to Spain. 'Spain go and sit… over there somewhere,' he said with a vague wave of his hand.

Spain looked heartbroken, but complied, though he paused as he went to move along the table. 'Can you tell Prussia that he was really nasty though please, Germany?' Spain said with a pout that a man of his age really shouldn't have worn.

Germany frowned. He'd do a lot more than tell Prussia that he was "really nasty" once this meeting was over. A _lot_ more. Not that it was _entirely_ his brother's fault, he was willing to bet. He most assuredly had a partner in crime in all of this.

'Portugal!' England said as he followed Portugal into the conference room. 'Please just ignore that message. _Please_. Prussia tricked me, I swear-'

'England!' Portugal turned to him, laughing. 'Stop going on about it, honestly! You were both drunk. It's not as if I took it personally.'

'Yes, but-'

'England,' Portugal smiled. 'Really. It's fine.'

'Yes, but-'

'Although,' Portugal smirked, cocking his head to one side. 'I'll have to see what I can do to earn back my position of being your _first- best friend_.' England pulled a face, flushing in embarrassment as the nations closest to them snickered behind their hands, but rather than make a comeback, he looked to the side and muttered something that made Portugal grin.

Obviously forgiven for whatever he, or Prussia had done to apparently offend Portugal, England made his way over towards where Germany sat near the head of the table, Portugal trailing along behind him.

'Morning,' England muttered, moving to the chairman's seat, rubbing idly at his back.

'Morning!' Portugal parroted, though his tone was much sunnier. 'What's my little brother doing here? He phoned me up this morning, asking me if I could take his place as the EU rep. Said he wasn't feeling very well…' he trailed off, staring over at where Spain was sulking at the other end of the table.

'He's in big trouble with my big brother~' Italy sang out.

Portugal laughed. 'When is he not?'

'He's in more than _big trouble_!' Romano snapped rather loudly. Spain's flinch indicated that he had heard.

'Nothing that _you'd_ know about, right, England?' Germany said quietly.

England coughed awkwardly, ignoring the question, and still rubbing at his back.

'Actually, England, I was wondering if you'd seen my brother around,' Germany pushed. 'He was with you last night, if I recall correctly.'

'He must have gone home,' England muttered, easing himself slowly into his chair.

'What's the matter, England?' France spoke up, finally moving to take his own chair. He grinned as if he smelt fresh blood. 'Rough night?'

'Shut up, Frog!' England shot back.

'Hey, Spain, now that your much better, much more attractive elder brother is here, do you want to try fucking off back home?' Romano shouted down the table. 'You're not needed here any more,' he smirked.

'But Romano! You said that you'd come around mine today to play with the turtles!' Spain responded with a pout.

'So, England,' France purred. 'Do you need any cream for that? I'll be happy to apply it for you, naturally.'

'I- you- argh! You're such an idiot!' Romano yelled back at Spain, pointing wildly.

'I swear to God, France, if you don't shut the fuck up-'

'Why? Will Prussia get jealous? You never know, maybe he'll want to help me,' France grinned.

'Romanoooooo!'

'Germany! Germany! Can we go out to eat after this? I'm hungry,' Italy pouted, pawing at Germany's arm.

'England!' America sobbed, running up to his former guardian as soon as he entered the room. 'England you gotta help me! My chessboard is possessed! Please, man! You gotta help me out!'

'Come on now, France,' Portugal chuckled. 'Don't tease him.'

'Why are you defending him, Portugal?' France laughed back. 'I thought that you were only his _second- best friend_.'

'Why are you so fucking nosey you… you… big nose!' England spluttered.

France looked deeply offended by that. 'How _dare_ you! At least I'm not an alcoholic!'

'What, unlike _you_, you fucking wino?'

'But, Romanooooooooo!'

'Germany! Germany!'

'So noisy, aru!'

'Cheese- eating tosspot!'

'Oh go and suck on some wurst!'

'England! My chessboard! What are you going to do about my chessboard!'

'Like, Russia stop looking at me, you freak!'

'Ger-'

'Enough!' Germany thundered, smacking his palm to the table for good measure. 'This is supposed to be a G20 summit and you're all acting like school children! Now be quiet!' Slowly the occupants of the room complied, though a few spare glares were thrown around. 'Right,' Germany breathed out slowly, trying to ignore the thudding of his head. 'England,' he said, turning to the blond sitting at the head of the table. 'Would you like to open your meeting? That is,' he added with a very small smile, 'of course if you're feeling up to it?'

England blushed hotly and sent him a scowl, but otherwise got up and headed over towards the projector.

Germany watched him for a moment before closing his eyes and massaging his temples. With any luck his brother would still be loafing around in England's house after this, because right now Germany was fully ready to take England up on his offer from the night before. He _needed_ a good drink, and he fully planned on tagging along with England and his brother on their nightly pub- raid.

Even if it meant that at the very least he'd be acting as a chaperone.

* * *

And this concludes what happens when two idiots go to the pub together. I hope that you feel enlightened.

8)d


End file.
